Longing
by Tidal muse
Summary: In the darkest hour, when there is nothing left, Furosia knows comfort is for the innocent. One-off.


The night grew cold in the desert, in this place where Furiosa learnt that everything she had done this for was a fallacy, a truth that had fallen apart in her absence. They had done all this, lost so much, for nothing. All her determination and planning had gotten them nowhere, and now there was nowhere left to go. The shining hope had died. He'd said hope was useless, and maybe he was right because it that hope the hurt so much now in the aftermath, as she lay here under millions of stars over her head. The slight wrap she had did nothing against the cold. The wives were in the cab, except Capability who was up in the rear tower with Nux. Furiosa had to be outside, ready if something came at them in the night. She had to hear and she had to see, even if he was lying not far away, wrapping in his jacket, sleeping with his back to her.

Slow shifting sounded high over her head, up in the tower, then the sounds of heavy breathing and unrepressable groans. With a silent chuckle, Furiosa closed her eyes. Capability was making a man of Nux, and that was as it should be. Young, innocent men should be the ones filling these girls' bellies. That was the natural order, and Furiosa bet Nux was right now finding the religion he so desperately searched for.

He shifted not far away and Furiosa turned to see him looking back at her, fully aware of what was happening above their heads. She couldn't entirely see him in the dark, but enough to see a knowing glance. His thoughts were the same as hers. He was the same as her, in most regards, if not all. She didn't even know his name, but she knew him, knew she could depend on him, knew he would do what had to be done. She knew the guilt that haunted him, because they were the same as hers. All the things she'd done to be strong, to rise in the ranks, stepping on anyone who got in her way. Too late the sham of it all had become clear to her. She'd been as devoted as Nux had been, for years, but it was all a lie. Now she had to live with the things she'd done, as he had to with his. The things that drove him to keep fighting, drove her. She had to keep fighting; there was nothing else. Looking over, she could see the curve of his arm and thigh in the moonlight. In her life, she had never known anyone as well as she knew him.

And never had she wished for someone as much as she had when she had stood there waiting with her pistol pointed at the figure emerging from the dust when he'd gone to deal with their remaining chasers, the actions that would free them. The choice had been to leave him if the engines were cool enough, or risk waiting for him. She would have gone, she knew it, he knew it, but she hadn't wanted to, wanting nothing more than for him to emerge from the dust cloud. Breathing a shuddering sigh of relief when he did.

Now he was here and she had led him and everyone else to nowhere, not that he minded, she suspected. He had nowhere in particular he was going. He was just here because it was something to fight for, all goal for all this pain and suffering. Another thing she had ultimately failed to provide.

Nux's baptism as a lover because more fervent and Furiosa swallowed hard, knowing the comfort and solace the boy was finding, probably for the first time in his life.

Her companion on the sand, turned back away from her, turning away from the shared understanding in that moment's glace. If he turned to her, she would welcome him, but she knew he wouldn't, and she knew she wouldn't ask. Neither of them deserved solace; they only served to protect what innocent was left in this world. They were united on this, and the gut deep desire to feel his hands on her, to feel something other than pain was useless. What Capability and Nux were doing was the ultimate exercise in hope—even as there was none, for any of them, but that was innocence, the refusal to let hope die in the face of Nux's tumours, or the day they would face with the coming dawn.

Clasping her palms, she chased away the ache to touch and closed her eyes again. He would not come to her, and she would not ask. Comfort was not part of penitence, and the hope would hurt too much. This was the way it had to be. Tomorrow, she would depend on him, maybe even die for him. And she didn't even know his name.


End file.
